


Everyone Hates the Red Line

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Series: Repeat 'Verse [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Can be read alone, College, Community: trope_bingo, Future Fic, Gen, Repeat 'Verse, Stiles POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: Two 80-minute trips on Boston Public Transportation were really, really not worth a five minute conversation.(Or, how Stiles winds up working for the CIA after grad school. You do not need to have read Stuck on Repeat, though it's more fun in context.)





	Everyone Hates the Red Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iMOCKusALL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iMOCKusALL/gifts).



> For iMOCKusALL's trivia success prompt!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. (I couldn't fit all of it without it becoming dangerously long, and it was either dangerously long, or finished this calendar year. Lesser of two evils.)
> 
> To folks who haven't read Stuck on Repeat, just consider this future fic.
> 
> (This also fulfills my future fic box for [Trope Bingo](http://trope_bingo.dreamwidth.org). Anything in Stuck on Repeat meets that box. It was like a giveaway box. Thanks, Trope Bingo.)

Stiles was halfway through the final proof of this thesis -- in other words, he was 82% insane, 10% caffeine, and 8% raw bundle of nerves -- when his advisor cold called him and said,

“Are you on campus? Oh, never mind. Be at my office in an hour,” before hanging up.

After staring at his phone for what was undeniably more time than he had to spare, Stiles stood up and headed out the door. If he was very, very lucky, the Red Line wouldn’t be running late at -- oh, five o’clock, he was so screwed.

It took Stiles about an hour and twenty minutes to make it to his advisor’s office, during which time he’d almost been pushed out of a car, nearly fallen down the stairs getting through Downtown Crossing, and then been packed into the Red Line train like a sardine getting shipped off to Fancy Feast.

He lurched off the train at Kendall with as much speed as he could without braining himself and stepped outside into pouring rain that had been blue skies when he’d left his apartment. Well, apartment-shaped thing. Stiles spent a quick moment deciding on whether running through the rain to his advisor’s office and getting there faster, or taking the tunnels to stay dry but getting there later, would be the better idea.

Then he remembered his advisor was probably secretly a demon of some kind, and took off running. 

He shook himself off a bit before knocking on his advisor’s door. Her voice came out, “Stilinski? Come in!”

Stiles opened the door and his mouth to apologize, but stopped when he saw an unfamiliar man in a suit sitting in the third chair of the office, which Stiles had never seen occupied.

“Uh, thanks,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair and causing water to run down the back of his shirt. Probably not his best choice. “What’s up?”

“Stiles, this is Anderson Whittely. He’d like to talk to you about your options for after graduation,” his advisor answered, sitting back in her seat.

Stiles sat down in the other chair, dropping his messenger bag and turning so that he could face a very stoic Anderson Whittely. “Nice to meet you,” Stiles said, putting out his hand.

Anderson glanced at it for a moment before taking it, squeezing it, and saying, “Likewise.”

No hand-shaking happened whatsoever. Stiles moved past it.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Anderson started, in what Stiles had long since named the Here’s a Lecture You’re Not Going to Enjoy tone. “I’m here to speak to you about career opportunities after you graduate.”

Stiles nodded, trying to keep his brain from going back to his unfinished thesis and exactly how much less sleep he was going to get because of it.

“As you know, your skills are fairly niche. Computer science and linguistics together are generally funneled into advanced coding or codebreaking,” Anderson continued. “We’d like you to consider something else.”

“This is my considering face,” Stiles agreed, feeling a bit punch-drunk. His thesis adrenaline might be wearing off. A little.

Anderson paused. “Good,” he said, shrugging. “I’m a recruiter for government intelligence,” Anderson said. “I’d like you to consider putting your skills to use for your country.”

Stiles took a moment to let his initial responses -- “We want _YOU_ for the United States Army” and “Why is it only ‘my country’ when it wants something, and then goes back to being a republic made of morons where I have no say when it’s done?” -- peter out naturally, then said, “That sounds interesting,” instead.

“It is,” Anderson said, nodding seriously. “Specifically, I would like to recruit you as an analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency.”

It took a moment for Stiles to finish marveling on why on earth the man hadn’t just said “CIA,” before he replied, “Interesting.”

“Your training would begin one week after your thesis defense,” Anderson continued.

“Okay,” Stiles answered.

Anderson stared at him for a moment, then said, “Glad to have you on board. Your contract will arrive in the mail within three to five business days.” Anderson stood up, expertly buttoned his suit jacket one-handed, and walked out of the room.

Stiles stared after him. “Wait,” he said. He turned to his advisor. “Did I just agree to work for the CIA?”

She shrugged. “He seemed to think so.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “At least I can stop applying for jobs now?”

“There you go, Stilinski, always look at the bright side,” his advisor said. “Now get out and go finish your thesis.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles agreed, grabbing his bag before running out into the hall. Seeing the rain, he jockeyed faster versus dryer, and faster won again. He had a lot of editing to do, which he’d been told would wait for no man.

As he sprinted down the street to Kendall, he let a little piece of his mind drift to the conversation that had just happened. 

The CIA, huh? That didn’t sound so bad.

Which was around when he slipped on a wet stone and went down into one of MIT’s perfectly manicured hedges.

**Author's Note:**

> No, but really: everyone hates the Red Line. Has anyone noticed it's actually screeching _worse_ than the Orange Line right now? I didn't even think that was possible.
> 
> Also: seriously, MIT, how much goddamn money do you spend on being the mostly obnoxiously well-manicured campus in Cambridge (because, let's be honest, Harvard doesn't hold a candle in lawn maintenance; it just wins hands down in buildings).


End file.
